


keep my heart in your hands

by chininja



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, answered prompts, drabble fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-03-07 22:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chininja/pseuds/chininja
Summary: Just some answered prompts asked from tumblr.





	1. Going Into Labor - Jaime/Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fro the prompt: they’re visiting the family in Winterfell when Sansa suddenly goes into labour

She and Jaime were visiting Gendry and Arya up north, a little last minute road trip before they truly start internalizing becoming parents. Well, Sansa already loves the little guy inside of her. Jaime on the other hand - 

It isn’t like he hates the idea of being a father, but considering the strained relationship he has with his children from his previous marriage, it’s made him ambivalent. But the truth that he pushes away is that he’s afraid of being a father. And that’s a can he tries to keep shut as much as he can.

It has put a strain on his relationship with Sansa, unwilling as he is to divulge his emotions to his wife. Not because he wants to keep things from her, but because he doesn’t know how to put them to words. He wants to be a comfort for her, not add to her worries. But all he’s done it seems is make her worry for  _him_. 

They are in the sun room early morning, his wife chatting animatedly with her sister, when she stops mid-sentence to grasp her belly, a grimace fully set on her features. “I’m f-fine-!” she gasps out before anyone can ask, but no one believes her. Jaime looks to her in concern, Gendry looks pale, while Arya shouts at her sister to  _not be stupid, you’re obviously in pain!_

When she feels her water burst, her eyes bug out because,  _it’s too soon!_   “Jaime!” she calls for him in panic. “Jaime, my water just broke,” her eyes are scared, looking to him to ground her, to see her distress and  _match_  it. 

Seeing his wife in a panic spurs him into action. Their pregnancy kit isn’t with them, but it doesn’t matter. None of that matters now. He calls the nearest hospital and lets them know that they are on their way. He tattoos in his mind when the nurse says to time how far apart the contractions are. He coordinates with Arya to meet them at the hospital, tasks her to inform the rest of the Starks that they’re about to see their new nephew soon. 

Sansa’s breathing is labored, trying to keep to the rhythm they were taught in all the birthing classes they attended. Jaime tries to keep his eyes on the road,while the ever familiar anxiety that has only gotten bolder upon finding out about the pregnancy is harshly pushed away. 

“I’m scared,” Sansa says meekly, as though voicing out her emotions immediately damns her as a failure.

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it in his. “So am I,” Jaime says candidly for the first time - not just to her, but admitting it to himself as well. 

They say nothing to each other then, finding comfort in each other’s vulnerability, until they reach the hospital’s emergency room. She is shuttled away in a wheel chair then, nurses and aids firing question after question it’s a miracle Sansa is able to keep up at all that Jaime’s respect for his wife multiplied.

Minutes later when they are left alone in their private room, Jaime at Sansa’s side, thoughts he’s repressed come tumbling out of him.

“I don’t know how to be a father,” he whispers to her hand, unable to say it to her face. “I hardly have a relationship with Tommen and Myrcella, there are nights the thought of failing this child -  _our_  child - grips me in a fear so tight, I can’t breathe,” his throat tighten with the threat of tears which he only keeps at bay by reminding himself that this is about his wife, not him.

“Jaime,” Sansa calls to him, voice steady and strong. “I am your partner,” she pulls her hand from his and turns his head to face her. “That means that in all things that come our way,” she pauses then, another contraction jealous for her attention. She breathes out and tries to regulate her breathing once more before she continues. “We do it  _together._  And apparently, that includes going through the fear of screwing up this baby’s life.” She cracks a sardonic smile.

“We have each other,” tumultuous green glued on peaceful blue.

“We have each other.” Calm. Resolute. Loving.

—

Hours later when they are surrounded by all sorts of Starks, Jaime and Sansa meet their little guy for the first time.

“Addam Cedric Lannister. You already have our hearts, my love.” mother whispers to son, blue eyes on blue.

“I will protect you,” vows the father, in awe of the infant before him. 

“ _Always_.”


	2. Birthday Sex - Jaime/Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: birthday sex

They slept with her back to him and his arms around her.

He woke up to the feeling of his lady’s mouth around his cock.

Jaime lets out a groan, his good hand inching towards where her head is as his eyes slowly open. He nearly comes at the sight that greets him - blue eyes, clear and intense and piercing. He loves her, loves everything about the way that she cares for her people, the gentleness she shows those who serve her, and the warmth she reserves for those she considers her family. But her  _eyes._ They undo him.

She bobs her head and when she sucks on the tip of his cock, Jaime’s groan increase in volume, and he only knows that it pleased her when she does it again. She goes back down as far as she can reach, her hands making sure he isn’t left kept wanting. He isn’t sure when his eyes closed, but they snapped open when he feels the back of her throat.

 _Gods,_ he thinks. He’s no green boy, but the sight before him, the feeling of her mouth - he doesn’t know how long he can take.

“S-Sansa,” he breathes out instead, and the sound of her name from his lips makes her hum in pleasure. “Fuck,” he curses, the vibrations around him feeling like they’re too much and not enough at the same time.

She pulls up and goes down again, deep until her nose buries in on golden curls darker than the ones on his head. When Jaime feels her swallow around his head, the tightening in her hair is the only warning he gives before he comes in her mouth.

His breathing is heavy, eyes shut as he catches his breath, the dips on the bed the only way to tell him that she’s moving. That, and the wet slide of her folds on his emptied cock. When he looks at her, hair disheveled and lips swollen, Jaime can’t help but reach for her face. His good hand brushes her lips, and he feels her lips press lightly against them.

“Happy nameday, my love,” her voice is deep and a little hoarse, but it’s a sound that makes his cock twitch in interest. Her grinding down on him, an indication that she noticed.

Jaime sits up, so Sansa fits more securedly in his lap. “That was quite the present, sweetling,” he murmurs on her neck, nipping and licking as he pleases. “It may take me a while to be ready for you,” he murmurs in her ear.

Sansa pushes him back on the bed, her thighs moving from his hips up to where they cage his face. “That’s alright,” she whispers, brushing her fingers against sweat damp hair.

“You can make it up to me.” She says, inching down closer to his mouth.

“Hm, I do love to please,” his lips twitch up in a smirk.

Her tinkling laugh is the last he hears before a sigh and then a moan of his name, as he buries his face in his lady’s cunt.

_The perfect present indeed._


	3. Mr. President - Jaime/Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Happy birthday Mr. President
> 
> This particular drabble fits into my Easy Like Breathing series.

It was a brutal campaign period, especially as he went up against Daenerys Targaryen, and for a moment Jaime thought he’d have to concede. But Sansa urged him to sleep on it before making a final decision. True enough, when he woke, he has a lead on his opponent by a small margin. 

At the end of the day, Senator Jaime Lannister became President-elect Lannister. 

That was two days ago.

Jaime’s certain his father would twitch in pride.

Tyrion certainly is, and Jaime’s well pleased to see his brother right down sloshed. Of course, none of this would’ve happened without Sansa, the wife he truly feels he doesn’t deserve.

He never wanted to have this much power, content with writing laws that would help his people.  _And yet -_

She doesn’t push him to be someone he isn’t, accepting him for who he is but calling him out on his bullshit if she has to, and he becomes a better man for it. A better public servant too.

He rubs his temples to stave off the headache he feels is coming, but when the door to his office opens, a smile instantly blooms on his face.

Sansa is walking towards him with a cupcake and a lit candle on top. 

 _“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Mr. President,”_  She stops right between his legs as she sings before promptly perching herself on his lap. “Not president yet,” he teases. 

She gives him a raised eyebrow and an exasperated sigh before continuing.  _“Happy birthday, my dear Jaime, happy birthday to you.”_

Well, he certainly likes this version more.

“Make a wish, babe.” Sansa says, settling a little bit more of her weight on him as she makes herself comfortable. And honestly, he can’t help but feel every bit like the cliched leading man in the movies.

“What more can I want - I’ve become president with you by my side.” His hand on her waist squeezes her, startling her into a giggle, his other hand draws the one holding the cupcake closer to him so that he could blow on the candle. Sansa puts it on the desk when he does.

She brushes his hair away from his eyes and settles her hand on his neck, her thumb brushing back and forth on the spot just below his jaw. “I’m so proud of you, Jaime.” She tells him tenderly, her eyes crinkling in pleasure. 

“And I love you,” he breathes out to her before he captures her in a kiss. 

He savors this moment; the high of a win with the woman who is his better half in every way. He knows the time will come when he’ll be stressed enough to question why he ran in the first place, but for now there is contentment and joy. 


	4. Lemon Cakes - Jaime/Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Jaimsa + lemon cakes

Sansa has had a long day, and all she longs for is to go back to her chambers, sink into a hot bath, and sleep for three full days.

It is a tiring task to be the lady of a keep, especially one such as Winterfell. And with Jon as Daenerys’ consort, the burden of Warden falls on her slim shoulders. She loves her home, and the North - she wouldn’t have fought tooth and nail for it if she didn’t. But sometimes she just wishes the lords will stop their squabbling and actually act like grown men.

Brienne looks at her sympathetically, offering whatever comfort she can to her lady as they walk back to the lord’s chambers.

“Brienne, would you please ask one of the maids to draw me a bath? And that I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.” She calls to her night, the fatigue seeping into her words.

“Of course, my lady.” Her knight responds, and turns on her heels leaving her blessedly alone in her rooms.

She has taken off her gown and is in just her shift when a maid knocks while three others come in with the copper tub, hot water, and surprisingly a plate of lemon cakes.

“Alys, who sent for the lemon cakes?” She asks, pleased to see her favorite childhood treat once more. It’s been  _ages._

 _“_ From Ser Jaime, my lady.” The girl replies. “He says that the only reason the keep hasn’t fallen over is because of its lady.” At this, Sansa nearly curses herself for the blush that comes upon her and Alys’ eyes sparkle at her unflappable lady seeming entirely too flustered, the other maids failing to keep a straight face themselves.

“Th-that will be all, Alys. Thank you.” Her maid bobs a curtsy, her smile still in place, the others following her lead.

Sansa moves towards the plate and picks up a cake, her delight plain on her face. Whether it is because of the treat or the giver, she pushes the thought for later. But Sansa can’t deny that the knight has managed to resurface the young girl she thought she has buried. The effect that he has on her both pleases and frightens her.

But for now, lemon cakes.


	5. Prince & Commoner - Jaime/Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaimsa - Prince of Westeros Jaime, Commoner Sansa

“What is it?” Sansa inquires of the blue box he hands her - too big for a ring. He is terribly helpless in giving gifts to begin with, so really, it could be anything inside a reused box from a jewelry store. Or something.

But she hasn’t got her hopes up.

( _She hasn’t_.)

“Just open it,” there is a near tremor she finds in his voice and she can’t help but look at him quizzically. But she decides not to press and opens the present, only to open a smaller box where in laid a ring nestled on small photos and memories they’ve made with each other.

When she lifts her head to look at him, she finds him bent on one knee before her.

“J-Jaime…? Tell me this isn’t what-” Sansa stutters over her words, not quite able to voice them out, unbelieving of what is before her.

“I’m no good with speeches,” Jaime, a prince of Westeros, begins to say. “But I have fallen in love with you, irrevocably in love with you. His hands clutch hers, his thumbs rubbing circles at the back of her hand. "You have taught me to become a monarch who cares beyond the superficiality of the crown. You taught me to be myself, and I never thought it would be possible until I was with you.”

Sansa sniffs ay his words, getting a whiff of his fragrance and the detergent from his cardigan and shirt - entirely too casual for a crowned prince.

He adores her and she can’t imagine not being with him, but the reality of their stations hangs over her head. Her doubts of fitting into what this new role would require of her looms at the back of her mind. It is a wall of obstacles they have faced to fight for to be together. She can only imagine the battle ahead of them should they get engaged.

“Sansa,” he starts once more. “Would you marry me, my love?”

But at his question, the vulnerability in his face, the intimacy of being asked in her home - all apprehensions are cast away.

She nods, gives a tearful yes and is swallowed by his embrace. Sansa sees the relief and joy in his face and knows then that she has made the right decision, every bit of her prince’s emotions echoes in her.


	6. Pre-BoW - Tormund/Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tormund + Brienne + Ghost

He’s never been one to mince his words, or dwell on their propriety, really. He was a free folk after all, taught to live life with candor - to fuck and fight whomever as he please. He wonders if that’s why all these Southerners all act like they have a stick shoved up their assholes - unable to be let loose, always so paranoid of someone betraying them.

So he tells the story of how he got his name to the Big Woman and of the battles he’s won. Somehow, he doesn’t get the reaction that he’s aiming for.

But when he tells her to fuck tradition, he sees some of the tension gathered in her eyes start to ease. When Jon Snow’s wolf settles by his feet nuzzling him, he sees them disappear completely.

“He likes you..” Tormund doesn’t think she means to voice that one out, but there was a mixture of wonder and disbelief at the image before her.

“He didn’t always like me,” he gruffs out. “We were on opposite sides once,” he mutters, scarred hands scratching Ghost behind his ears. And all of a sudden it isn’t a menacing direwolf that is before Brienne, but a domesticated animal that’s turned putty at the hands of the Free Folk’s leader.

“What changed then,” she asks softly, uncaring of Pod’s singing or Tyrion’s bawdy jokes.

“Hardhome, I s'pose,” comes the reply, slowly as though each syllable has brought on memories he’d rather not dwell on at the moment.

Blue eyes flicker to blue eyes, and Brienne senses that there is an understanding of a sort that has come between the two of them that comes from experienced grief and battles. It catches her off guard that she feels relief to see a different side of him.

There is depth to this Tormund, not just drunken hedonism or obnoxious lasciviousness.

There was a humanity in him she was able to connect with, moments before they fight against the dead.

Brienne leans down and smooths her hand against Ghost’s fur, brushing against the other man’s hand every now and then. When she looks to him once more, there us a soft smile on her face.

“It would be my honor to fight with you.”

Eyes crinkled and a deep belly laugh with breath stinking of fermented goat’s milk, “Aye, me too Big Woman. Me too.”


	7. Secrets - Arthur/Lyanna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur/Lyanna, keeping secrets submitted by misshoneywheeler

Arthur stumbles upon the scrolls by accident.

Lyanna, she hid them beneath the mattress and he doesn't think he would've found them if not for one that was sticking out from her side of the bed. He thought that perhaps they were just scraps of parchment she just hadn't thrown out, but when she sees her familiar script, his curiosity won out. (He should feel ashamed, having been a member of the Kingsguard, he knows how to turn away from things that do not concern him. But this is _his_ Lyanna - whatever that means - and he felt his hand reach for the letter before his mind can fully register what his limb was doing.)

They were all unsent letters to her brother.

Arthur skims through the letter but has read enough that he can feel how palpable her guilt was. _Is_.

He staggers to a nearby stool as the implications of what he has stumbled upon weighs on him.

"Oh Lyanna," battle-roughened hands cover his face, the parchment still clutched tightly in the other.

"Oh Lyanna what?" her voice is raspy from fatigue - Jon has been up all evening, fusiing over the heat of the Free Cities.

Arthur's indigo eyes meet her storm grey ones, the light in her eyes fading when she sees what he's holding.

"W-why do you have that?" She stutters out, all of a sudden unsure and unlike the headstrong maid he has come to _lo_ -

"I found them sticking from beneath the mattress," Arthur confesses, knows he is in the wrong but also genuinely saddened that she would not confide in him about this. "You need not keep this a secret from me, Lyanna. I would not stop you from sending a raven to your brother." He moves slowly to her, as though any sudden movement would cause her to flee.

And to be true, Arthur is uncertain she wouldn't.

Lyanna fiddles with the skirt of her dress, a sign Arthur has taken to mean is brought on by her nerves. Her dark hair shrouds her face for a moment, and it isn't until the old knight is a foot away from her that she looks him in the eye, her own watery from emotions that have been kept away.

"I didn't mean to keep them from you," she whispers to his chest, her gaze faltering slightly to settle on the stubble on his chin. "I just didn't think I had the courage to reach out to Ned. Not after," her voice breaks a little, so she pauses and closes her eyes, drawing upon strength Arthur know she has in abundance. "Not after what I put our family through." She sounds resolute, Arthur thinks. But when he looks at her, he is only reminded that she is a young girl manipulated by a man who always stood to have more power over her.

For all the affection that Arthur once held for his dear friend, he can’t help but curse at Rhaegar for what he did to Lyanna.

"There is enough guilt and shame to last a lifetime, my lady," his voice as warm as the hand he places on her cheek. "But dwelling on it will only keep us from moving forward and if I were to surmise from your letter," his thumb rubs circles on the apple of her cheek and Arthyr feels her hands clutching the fabric of his tunic.

"A chance to reconcile with your family."

Arthur Dayne has only ever seen this woman cry twice - the first when she realized that her actions with Rhaegar brought the death of her brother and father, the second when Jon was placed in her arms.

He is only fortunate enough to be trusted with a third time now when this girl, who has the North in ever fiber of her being, recognizes what is being offered to her.

 _Redemption_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are great :)
> 
> Feel free to send prompts my way too (but y'know, please be kind enough to comment on the fic first before making a request :) ), and I'll try to get to them as soon as I can.


End file.
